


Probabilities Don’t Interest Me

by Ebyru



Category: Original Work
Genre: Best Friends, Denial, Gen, Internal Monologue, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Sexual Identity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is stretched out on the lawn chair next to mine, shorts tugging in interesting places, revealing things he might not want me to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probabilities Don’t Interest Me

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first original story (not fanfiction) I've written in years. It was for my short story class, and I feel very rusty.
> 
> I hope some of you enjoy it.  
> the prompt was "opportunities not taken".
> 
> Concrit welcome, if you're kind; I'm sensitive. Un-beta'd, and I'd appreciate if you point out mistakes.

Every time either of us takes a sip of iced tea, the ice clinks against the glass, and breaks our comfortable silence. But that’s not much in the scheme of things. We’ve been busier and busier lately; it’s not often we get to just bask in sunlight.

Sam is stretched out on the lawn chair next to mine, shorts tugging in interesting places, revealing things he might not want me to see.

Maybe I shouldn’t be looking.

My oversized t-shirt isn’t very attractive in comparison; my swimsuit is barely worth a backwards glance.

We were supposed to go to the beach, but Sam suggested that we just “chill” for a while, not that all this gorgeous sunshine allows much of that. We’ve already had to apply sunscreen a couple of times.

Sam asked me to do his back ten minutes ago; I almost emptied the entire bottle trying to keep my hands from making direct contact with all that bare skin.

I don’t know when I started looking at Sam this way – like we could be more than best friends, roommates. Like we could actually be _good_ together. I always thought he was handsome - with his shaggy, brown hair and his sharp, green eyes – but he hasn’t changed in the five years we’ve known each other, so these feelings are a mystery to me.

He still wrestles me for the remote control during movie night, and throws popcorn at my head when I don’t want to move my feet and let him pass by the coffee table. He still argues that it’s a waste of energy when I tell him to go around instead. He still falls asleep halfway through the movie, often snoring and – on rare occasions – drooling a bit.

In no way am I putting him on a pedestal; I’d be the first person to snap a photo of that famous, crusty spit, and post it on Facebook. In fact, I have. But—

Sam’s dark aviators gleam when his head falls back a bit, and then I hear him breathing deep and low. His arms are still crossed behind his head, but his mouth is parted a bit now, and I know it’s a telltale sign that Sam’s passing out. Why don’t I have my camera on hand?

I chuckle to myself, leaning over him, wondering how he could sleep with the sun practically baking us like human pies. I wonder a lot of things about him, to be honest.

How his skin glows like that when I’ve never seen a single bottle of lotion in his room; how he can make me laugh even when I’d spent the day crying my eyes out over a bad break up; how he hasn’t once canceled movie night to see his other friends, but that he’s let me cancel so many times without so much as making me buy him pizza.

Sam is the first best friend I’ve had, but somehow I’m still screwed up enough to want more. Five years of sharing a place, learning each other’s habits and flaws, finding out how to push each other’s buttons, and instead of it frightening me - like I suspect other people my age would be - it just spurs me on. I want to learn more; I want to spend more time with Sam.

I want – I _want_ \--

A bead of sweat trails across his brow, and I reach out without thinking, catching it before it burns his eyes; something Sam usually does for himself – when he isn’t taking a cat nap, that is. His chest continues to rise and fall, so I know I haven’t crossed any lines I can’t come back from yet. I’m still okay; he’s still going to be my friend when he wakes up. I won’t have to put an ad for a new roommate either.

But I’m not sitting back like I should be, I’m leaning over him. Damn, this is getting out of hand fast.  I’m looming above him like a freakin’ creeper who goes around, hiding in shadows, and cackling with a billowy cape on. I’m worse than his ex – Sandra or Amy; I can’t recall which one – who used to spend their meals watching him chew until he’d eaten everything on his plate.

Sam startles awake when I’m just about to move away, and I freeze where I am. I’ve been caught.

“What’s that about, dude? Trying to get me into an early grave?” he says as his shoulder’s jump, but there’s a smile behind his words.

“I – I.” Stammering is _so_ becoming.

“Dude, relax. I know you’re not Amy,” he jokes, sitting up.

(So _that_ was the one…) I force a smile, eyes darting away quickly.

“Is something up? You’re acting all weird. Did something happen while I was passed out?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just thinking about stuff.”

I forget how well Sam knows me, though.

“I know that look, dude. Are you gonna spit it out or am I gonna have to get you in a headlock?”

There’s a moment when I consider confessing everything I’ve been feeling in recent months; how things could be even better if we were intimate – even though I wouldn’t have the first clue as to what I’m doing – and how I’d do everything I can to make sure he’s the happiest person alive. It’s a fleeting thought, like many of my thoughts, but it stays in my head – in my heart – long enough that Sam’s smile starts to fade.

“I’m sorry, man. If it’s something about your mom again, you don’t have to tell me. I know how it is, Chuck.”

Sam gives me an out, not even aware of how close I was to finally telling him I think I may be bi (because of him). And like the coward only I know myself to be, I take it. I’m nodding my head, agreeing with the lie he’s concocted for me.

**Author's Note:**

> comments appreciated.


End file.
